Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Sun Feb 29, 2004 at 10:36:25 pm EST
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Whew! You guys have been busy with the artistic tech stuff. Very nice. Here's Alcheman #3
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The Adventures of Alcheman #3


“More of the Following of the Muse”



After his disheartening encounter with Cyrus Honig, case worker for the Council for the Occlusion of Paranormal Experiences, Michael Wooster felt the need to search out a kindred spirit; someone who understood what it meant to have a passion for the extraordinary. To this end the returned to the Hell’s Bathroom office where he got his powers, to the tattoo parlor of Ivan Strode.

Strode, a slim wiry man in his early fifties, inspected his work, “Very nice,” he complimented himself after getting Michael to roll his shirtsleeve up to his shoulder, exposing the periodic tables that ringed his bicep, “Simple, but elegant. I don’t get a chance to see my finished work too often, and while I’m inking I kind of zone out. So,” he said, popping open a beer, “What do they let you do?”

“I am able to transmute myself into a variety of elements and compounds, depending on the number or sequence of touching the symbols. I was once able to transmute the chemical composition of other targets, but, uh, that was under extensive circumstances,” Alcheman blushed upon the recollection of his encounter with the Probability Dancer.

“Sounds wild,” Ivan leaned back into the recliner where his customers usually sat, “So what you gonna do now: join the Lair Legion?”

“No, no. I’m not even close to ready for that yet,” Michael sat on Strode’s work stool, “I still need to get a costume that will transform as I do, though I have taken steps to procure such a thing. The next stage in my preparation for becoming a superhero requires finding a suitable icon. I thought you might be able to help me with that.”

“Icon? You mean like a symbol?”

“Exactly. Something so that when it’s seen or mentioned, it identifies and defines who its possessor is.”

“Like the day-glo smiley face.”

Michael nodded, “Or the yellow long coat. Or the bat with the nail in it.”

Ivan was warming up to the idea, “Or the fern frond.”

“Yes, like those,” Michael bent down and withdrew a tablet from the satchel that leaned on his stool, “I’ve taken the liberty of making some proposed sketches on what might constitute an appropriate icon for me, trying to balance the scientific and Hermetic natures of my abilities. But I need someone with a professional’s eye to determine whether or not they have the necessary aesthetic quality to be a superhero’s symbol. Do you mind?” he handed Ivan the pad.

Strode glanced over the lop-sided doodles and coughed politely into his beard. Then he removed a pencil stub from behind his ear and flipped the tablet to a clean page, “Let’s try something else, OK? Something, ah, symmetrical?” and he began drawing.

From his stool Michael smiled, “You’re the artist,” he said. While waiting he took out the Bautista Enterprises brochure from his jacket pocket and read up on what would be his next stop.

*****


Trudi and Jenni Wooster were only fraternal twins, but that did not stop them from being alike in many ways. They had common tastes in clothes, food, music, and men, and both seemed to always know what the other was thinking. Most irksome was their habit of searching out and reveling in trouble. It cost Agnes Wooster, their long suffering mother, a sizable sum to get them out of their latest scrape. Still, it was good to remember that there were some slight differences between the two.

“For the love of God, what could you have possibly have done to cause eight thousand dollars worth of damage to a hotel room?”

“Eight thousand?” Jenni, the taller one, shook her head, “Oh, the Hilton is gouging you mother.”

“The police had pictures of the suite!” Agnes shot back, “There were holes in the wall.”

“That wasn’t us,” Trudi, the curvier one, explained, “That was the hockey players.”

“Hockey players?! What hockey players?!”

Jenni, the blonder one, sipped her tea, “Our guests. We had been at the Rink and just finished watching them win, (I think they won), and brought them back to the suites for a victory party.”

Trudi, the smarter one, chimed in, “They didn’t win. They tied. Remember, they said a tie is like kissing your sister, and I said, ‘Well it’s not like kissing my sister,’ and they laughed and then-“

“I don’t suppose,” Agnes interrupted gravely, “You recall the names of these hockey players?”

Both women shook their heads, “No. They were foreigners. Lots of Vs and Ks,” Trudi, the more observant one, reported.

“Too bad they didn’t wear their jerseys. After the match, I mean. Because they had them on during it. Helmets too,” Jenni, the more obvious one, noted.

Agnes leapt from her settee and loomed over her children, “Enough! The two of you will repay me for bailing you out of this mess. I don’t care how, but you will.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I should put you to work in that hotel until you pay off what you owe.”

“Work? In a hotel?” the flimsier Jenni blanched.

“What kind of girls do you think we are, mother?” the cheekier Trudi smirked.

Agnes bit her tongue and changed the subject, “I don’t need this today, of all days. To be reminded that all three of my children are willing to ruin the good name of Wooster.”

“Three?” asked the more number-conscious Trudi.

“What did Michael do?” continued the more gossip-minded Jenni.

Agnes flourished a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes, “Your foolish brother has decided that life is not worth living and has become a superhero.”

“That’s fantastic!!” the young women said simultaneously.

“What?”

“Oh, mother, you are so behind the times,” the trendier Jenni explained, “Superheroes are in. There’s a new movie about them every week. They’re on the cover of every magazine. It’s more in to be a superhero than it is to be gay.”

“Superheroes,” the shrewder Trudi declared, “are the new pirates.”

“Well, if your brother was a gay superhero pirate then he’d be the toast of the society page then, wouldn’t he?” Agnes put her hands on her hips, “Doesn’t it bother you that by making this decision Michael has put us all in danger?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” the more honest Jenni admitted.

“Well, Michael is smart. I’m sure he’s taken precautions to make sure we’re safe,” the more hopeful Trudi opined.

Agnes snorted, “I’ve seen his precautions. It consists of a piece of felt with two eyeholes and a tube of spirit gum. No, we must stop him before he goes too far and were targets for some supervillain’s vendetta.”
“But Mother, you know Michael. He’s as stubborn as Daddy was. Once his mind is made up nothing….” The more contemplative Trudi’s voice trailed off. She turned to her twin, “Jenni, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Isn’t that habitually the case, Trudi?” the more opportunistic Jenni looked to her mother, “We know how to get Michael to give up on his current career choice.”

“You do?”

The two sisters nodded, smiling wickedly (though Trudi’s grin was a bit wickeder).

Agnes waited a few moments before realizing there would be a price for her daughters’ support. She sighed.

“Very well: tell me what your idea is, and if it works, I’ll cancel your debt.”

Jenni and Trudi conferred with each other in a way only soul mates can, and then:

“Call Honoria.”

“Tell her what Michael’s up to.”

“She’ll put a stop to it.”

“Michael can’t say no to Honoria.”

“He’s afraid-”

“Not afraid: terrified.”

“-terrified of her.”

“Call Honoria, and this all goes away.”

Agnes marveled at her children’s performance. As always, their timing was flawless. What was truly amazing was that the logic behind it was surprisingly sound.

“Yes. Honoria. That’s brilliant,” she extolled. It was if every gloomy storm cloud that plagued her had been transformed to its core silver lining by the mere mention of the name.

“Proud of us, Mummy?” the needier Jenni wiggled in her seat.

“I’m proud of us, irregardless,” the haughtier Trudi declared.

The matriarch of the Wooster family smiled, “It’s nice to having you two work towards preserving the dignity of the Wooster family for once.”

Which was about as effusive a compliment as Agnes was genetically predisposed to giving.

*****


Concurrently, deep in the bowels of Paradopolis:

“Efficianado, attend me!” the mystery villain shouted from his lab.

The Efficianado was a powerfully built man in a black jogging suit, so chosen for its convenience in dressing and its ability to obscure stains. For the time-obsessed underling, not even a moment could be wasted on a more high maintenance costume, “Yes, sir?”

“What is the word on your efforts to purchase the instrumentation we seek?”

The Efficianado thought of seven ways to make his employer’s demand shorter and clearer, but wisely kept them to himself, “Poorly. Dr. Kittridge is backing out on us.”

The master malefactor cursed a slew of obscenities and hurled one of his tables ($750, the Efficianado noted) into a wall. The tirade lasted, and wasted, twelve seconds.

“Fine! Contact Factor X. I’m sure that huckster can scrounge up the necessary technology for Operation Great White Away to proceed on schedule.”

At a thirty percent mark up, the minion calculated.

“Oh, and send someone to kill Kittridge,” the arch fiend said as an afterthought, “Send Sh!tkicker. That accursed honky tonk wailing he calls music is driving me mad.”

The Efficianado agreed Sh!tkicker’s taste in song was driving down employee morale and productivity, but still he had his doubts, “Is that wise? Attacking Bautista Enterprises may tip off our target.”

“I said do it, you imprudent lack wit!!!”

“Yes, sir,” the Efficianado made a note on his PDA.

The grand foe wound himself up even further, “Kittridge must pay for his squeamishness. No one man can dare to halt this, my greatest of plans! He will suffer, as shall all of those foolish enough to challenge the power of-”

“Sir, the Prime Minister is waiting for your report,” the Efficianado interrupted brusquely, willing to risk even death to keep the enemy of all mankind to his set timetable.

“What?! Yes, very well. Let’s go humor the feckless Visigoth then,” the king of rogues stomped off to the communications center. The world would hear his name soon enough.

Next: Alcheman gets in his first real super battle (no offense, Dancer) as he takes on the furious feet of Sh!tkicker. The terror-inducing Honoria puts in an appearance. The surprise villain is revealed (any guesses?) and we get a little closer to an actual PVB guest star (any guesses?), and maybe if I can come up with one, we’ll see Alcheman’s icon. Coming soon.



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